


Romans, Romans Everywhere

by Dorkangel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, I can't believe no one else has written this, injuries, romans, timeline what timeline?, wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which the Plastic Rory Williams (Doctor Who) was stationed at the same fort Marcus Flavius Aquila (The Eagle of the Ninth), and involved in the same chariot crash...<br/>It all kind of fits, though I'm not sure whether I was writing in book or movie verse. Whatever, they're both good!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romans, Romans Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Wibbly-wobbly, Timey-wimey...stuff. Rory had a whole plastic life, right?

The Cohort Centurions marched together down the British road. Behind them was the entire Fourth Auxiliary Legion of Gauls. It was Marcus Flavius Aquila's first command, and a newly formed legion, without any wreaths or honours, but it was not Roranicus Lucius Octavian's. It wasn't even his third, though the man looked younger than even Marcus. He was, it seemed, a direct mix of Rome and Britain, with sandy brown hair and the slight frame that Marcus had come to associate with the tribesmen, but the dark eyes and crooked, long nose that screamed of Rome.  
The Gauls of their legion were tall, broad and blonde, and Marcus was totally different. Roman to his fingertips, dark and lithe and lean. His father had lived in Britain, as did his Uncle, and he had been living with his detested other aunt and uncle: his father's foolish sister and her callous, officious husband. Naturally, he'd taken the first opportunity to get stationed in Britain, where he could follow his father. Maybe... Maybe even find out what'd happened to his father.  
When he'd first met Rory, he was (of course) obliged to tell him who he was. That his father had been the commander if the Ninth Legion, who had marched up beyond Hadrian's Wall and never come marching home. They had disappeared completely: no one had ever known what had happened to them. And of course, with not a single man left, nothing was ever seen of the Eagle. The bronze Eagle that every Legion carried was the pride of every Roman. To lose it was the worst thing that could ever be done.  
Telling Rory had made him nervous, but Rory behaved as though the Ninth Legion was something he'd never really heard of, and once Marcus was finished with his story, he said that it was hardly his fault that his father had commanded a legion that had gone missing, and that - tragic though the loss of the Eagle always would be - surely the loss of a thousand men was slightly more serious?.  
Roranicus had explained that his family was dead. Or, specifically he said that they hadn't been born yet, which (since the Romans believed in reincarnation) was basically saying they were dead. His entire family? Marcus had asked, and Rory had said any family that he knew of, yes.

They had been at the fort, Isca Dumnorium, for less than three months when it was attacked. Tribesmen, stirred into action by a crazed Druid, tried to rise against Rome. Marcus Flavius Aquila and Roranicus Lucius Octavian had stood at the front of their defence, and with a well thrown spear Marcus had broken the line of chariots, given his men time to organise and hold off the attackers, and caused general disruption to the mutinous Britons. He had saved many lives.  
Of course, he didn't know that at the time. He saw Rory draw his sword, grim-faced, beside him, and he had thrown the spear, felt the weight of the crushing, jagged darkness as the chariot fell on him and his fellow centurion...

*

He woke through pain and darkness. At first there was bright white pain, and then it settled down to a dull red ache, still excruciating, but enough to let him breathe and move at least. He did move, just a tiny bit, opening his eyes, and saw Rory run over to him.  
"You're awake! Thank the gods."  
"Rory...how are you alright?"  
"It's not me you should concerned about, Marcus, you nearly died! That was an incredible act of bravery, my friend. You remind me of someone, who I believe was once mistaken for the Caesar."  
This was Rory's usual babbling, and Marcus paid no heed to it. Ignoring his warnings, he tried to sit up and collapsed against the rough bed again, gasping. "Marcus!" cried Rory, exasperated. "Here, drink this." It was a bowl of milk with herbs in it, and as soon as he did, he felt the darkness creep back at the edges of his vision until he was unconscious again.  
They were going to send him to his Uncle's house. Uncle Aquila, his father's brother, had long retired from soldiering and was living in Cavella with an ageing wolf hound, the bare minimum of slaves, and the book he had been writing for the last ten years.  
Rory was being discharged too, and he bore the same angry, shamed feeling at this as Marcus, which made it a little easier. But Rory (his injures were on his sword arm, it turned out, though Marcus could not see any blood through the bandages) had nowhere to go, and so Uncle Aquila had offered him a place at his house too.

Uncle Aquila was kind, and Rory was a good friend, but being cooped up indoors made Marcus want to explode. He could barely move - his leg was mangled beyond recognition - and so there was nothing for him to do. Rory and Uncle Aquila talked quite a lot. Rory, in fact, talked to everyone, even old Stephanos (Uncle Aquila's body slave) or Sasstica (the cook) or even sullen Marcipor (the house slave).  
To Uncle Aquila, in particular, he talked of soldiers.  
"My father was not a soldier." he admitted. "My Grandfather and Great-grandfather were, but I think that was more out of necessity than anything."  
"And you?"  
"I don't really know how I ended up a soldier. I just kind of woke up one day, in uniform."  
"But is it to your taste, the soldiering?"  
"I don't mind the marching or anything. I don't really seem to get tired anymore. It's the killing that truly bothers me."  
Uncle Aquila raised an eyebrow and gestured for Rory to continue. "Well, I understand killing, in a battle, self-defence, that kind of thing... But I do not like killing men. Not at all. Senseless waste of human life." he said, shaking his head.  
So, it was no wonder that when Uncle Aquila suggested the Saturnalia Games as a distraction for Marcus, Rory denied the chance to come. "I do not want to watch men forced to kill each other." he offered as explanation, and no one minded. Marcus had seen Rory in battle, and he was certainly not a coward.

While Marcus and Aquila were at the Games, watching a young slave refuse to fight for his life, and Marcus saving that life; Rory was sitting in the garden.  
Thinking about Amy. Thinking about Amy, and the games they'd played with Mels, had distracted him quite a bit. He had closed his eyes and laid down on the bench in the garden, still thinking. It was lucky he had a good memory.  
But because he was thinking, he didn't notice when a young girl, maybe thirteen, run lightly into their garden from the one next door. She stopped with a little start at the sight of the apparently sleeping centurion.  
Sensing some presence perhaps (he had extraordinary ears) Rory opened his eyes a little way and sat up, seeing the girl apparently frozen mid-step, running into their garden. Hearing a cry of 'Camilla!' shrilly behind her, she raised a finger to her lips and came swiftly forward to hide behind Rory. Her pointed, vixenish face was perfectly serious, and was framed by hair as red as Amy's, though far more thick and curly.  
The cries of 'Camilla' moved away from them, and the girl stood up. "I suppose you're Camilla then?" asked Rory, smiling. "No!" she cried angrily. "My name is Cottia. My aunt and uncle like to pretend that I am a proper Roman maiden, they make me dress in their silly tunics and call me Camilla and have me speak Latin. I am of the Iceni." she said proudly. "And why, little Miss Cottia of the Iceni, are you hiding? My name is Rory."  
"I know. You are one of the centurions that are living with Aquila. I am running away because my aunt and uncle would take me to the Games, and I do not wish to see caged animals fighting. Or caged men."  
Rory smiled a little. "Me neither. Marcus and Aquila have gone."  
She nodded. "You do not look Roman."  
"I don't know. My parents were from a place a little further North-"  
"Brigantes?"  
"I don't know. You know, you remind me of someone..."  
He told her briefly about Amy: how she met a madman in a blue box, how her and Rory had waited for the man to come back, and how he had and he had showed them the stars. Cottia listened, fascinated. "That is a good story."  
"It's true, I think."  
"Where is your Amy now?"  
"I... I don't know."  
Cottia nodded. "It is a good story. I will keep it secret."  
"Thank you."  
At that moment, Rory hear the sound of the door opening and Marcus's steady step-shuffle-thump with Aquila quicker, heavier steps and a quiet chatter as they talked animatedly of something. "I have to go, Cottia-" he said, turning to face her and finding her alert and pale-faced. "My family will be home too." she whispered, then smiled. "Oh, I will be in such trouble for this!"  
"I can back you up if-"  
"No, no. Sitting and talking to a strange soldier." She grinned wolfishly. "Imagine the scandal."  
"Goodbye, then."  
"Goodbye Rory."  
She ran quietly back into her own garden, and sure enough there was the shrill voice that Rory had heard calling for her (her nurse, Nissa) and a deeper, man's voice scolding her. He recognised Cottia's voice among them though, proud and defiant.  
"Rory! Hey, Roranicus, where are you?"  
Rory walked into the villa, seeing Marcus leaning against the doorframe to keep himself upright. "Was it a good fight?"  
Marcus scowled. "It was an odd fight. I may now share your opinion of the Games, my friend."  
"What happened?"  
Marcus sighed and they sat down on the couch, then explained about the ruthless killing of a bear and the usual unconvincing sham fights... But mainly about a young gladiator he had seen, younger than hisself and Rory even, who was sent out to fight to the death and refused, throwing down his weapons. Eventually the other man had him lying on the ground, a trident pressed towards his neck, and the crowd had their thumbs down - merciless fools! - and Marcus had put his thumb UP and called for others to do so until the boy's life was saved.  
"Uncle Aquila says he will most likely be sold."  
Rory nodded slowly, and Marcus tried to get up and stumbled a little, and Rory grabbed his arm and helped him to their room.  
He did, however, manage to catch Uncle Aquila before he went to bed. "That slave that Marcus saved," he said hesitantly. "You're going to buy him, aren't you?"  
Aquila smiled. "Yes. Don't tell him, but you two are overtaxing old Stephanos."  
Rory nodded, then smiled. "Good. Well, goodnight."

*

The next day was full of surprises. Marcus, trying to stand, found he could not and shouted for Stephanos. Hearing him, Rory started forward to help, but then stopped. Standing in the hallway with Uncle Aquila was a young man in a rough woollen tunic. Through his shirt you could see bands of warrior patterns winding around his arm, and every single part of him was tense, waiting, nervous. His eyes were focused somewhere halfway to the floor, like it was unnatural for him to lower his eyes but he knew he should, and he was small and wiry like most of the local celts, with shortish blonde hair that was nevertheless longer than Rory and Marcus's.  
This would be that gladiator then. "Hello." said Rory cheerfully and the boy started almost imperceptibly at being spoken to. For a moment his grey eyes flickered towards Rory's, and there was something like disappointment in them.  
Seeing no one else doing anything - since Uncle Aquila was messing with some papers - the slave replied in a voice hardly more than a whisper. "Hello."  
Rory smiled and wandered aimlessly off, much to the boy's confusion.  
"Stephanos!" yelled Marcus again, and Uncle Aquila moved forward, gesturing to the slave to follow him. "I've decided Stephanos is too old to serve three masters." He pushed the boy forward. "His name is Esca."  
Marcus sat down again, disgruntled. "I have no wish for a slave."  
"I had no wish to be bought." replied Esca almost without hesitation, but with that squaring of the shoulders afterwards that made Rory frown. "You should have run then," said Marcus. "My Uncle would not have stopped you."  
And then there was a flash of upraised steely eyes and the boy drew a dagger from somewhere within his shirt. "I am the son of Cunoval, chief of the Brigantes, lord of five hundred spears. I have never broken my word. You saved my life, and by my father's dagger I will serve you."  
He threw the dagger down with a crash, and Rory decided that it was probably a good time to stop whatever was going on.  
He walked in, frowning slightly at the dagger on the floor, but otherwise ignoring it. "Marcus, have you seen my boots?"  
"Jupiter, Rory, have you lost them again?"  
"Only one of them." he frowned. "Hello again."  
The boy nodded at him, almost shyly. "You can go and help the cook." said Marcus and the boy bowed and disappeared. Rory raised an eyebrow. "And what was that about?"  
"He seems to think I have impugned on his honour by saving him."  
"Hmm. Come into the garden, Marcus, I met next door's little girl and..."  
He described the meeting with Cottia. "Gods, Rory. You are friends with everyone."  
Rory shrugged. "I'm just nice to people." he murmured.

A few days later, Marcus decided to go hunting. He could still ride a horse, whatever state his leg was in. Rory declined. "I do not like hurting humans, and I do not like hurting animals."  
"You eat animals every day."  
"And I hurt people when necessary. I just prefer not to."  
Marcus put down his hunting spear for a moment and limped over to where Rory was reading. "What is that?"  
"Your Uncle's book. A history of siege warfare: by the look of it, every siege in history."  
Marcus shook his head. "How you can bear to be still I don't know."  
"It's easy. Just stop moving."

*

The hunting was good, apparently, but when Marcus and Esca came back, Esca was carrying a small bundle of fur in his arm. Rory, still sitting, reading (his history had never been that good in Leadworth, and he might as well improve on it) saw Marcus go back into their room to sit down, and Esca - suddenly grinning - walk towards Marcipor, holding the fur out.  
"Esc...Arh! A wolf! Esca, no, hold it away from me!"  
"It's just friendly."  
"Esca!"  
"Come, Marcipor, it's only hungry."  
Marcipor fled and Esca laughed silently, looking at the squirming little thing in his hands. Rory sat up.  
"Is that truly a wolf cub?" he called. Esca jumped, then stood very straight, his face expressionless again. "Yes sir. Marcus saw the body of a wolf and we found a cub."  
"Can I see?"  
Esca made a gesture that clearly said 'you can do whatever you want' and held it out. "Hello." said Rory, and gently touched the cub's nose, who snuffled. "I always wanted a dog." he laughed. "Everything is wilder here."  
Esca nodded. "Even Cavella was a British town before the Romans." he ventured quietly. "It's been here a long time?"  
"Yes. A very long time."  
"Did you live near here, then?"  
Esca looked up, eyes meeting Rory's for a second, almost angry at being asked about his past. "I lived further north." The words were slow to come and reluctant. Rory nodded thoughtfully. "So did I, though I can't remember where. I don't even know if it was north or south of the wall. I cant remember anything- not how I came to be a soldier. I just woke up one day and I was."  
Esca looked at him oddly, in able to conceal his curiosity at this strange centurion. "And what of you? How did a man living north of the wall come to be in the arena?"  
Esca stroked the wolf cub carefully as it twisted in his hands. "I was my father's shield bearer, and he was chief of the Brigantes. We tried to rise against Rome, and failed, and the soldiers took me. I swear, I was lying for dead in a ditch, else they wouldn't have taken me. I would rather have died."  
Rory looked at him, concerned, his nurse's nature showing. "And would you rather be dead now?"  
Seeing Esca's face, he realised the insensitive nature of the question. "I'm sorry, I didn-"  
"At the time I did not want the centurion to save my life. I did not ask for mercy and I expected none."  
Rory nodded, then tried for the false cheerful expression that dying patients in Leadworth were familiar with. Or, would be familiar with, in two thousand years. "Still, fate brought you to Marcus. Or something. I've never really understood that stuff."  
Esca nodded stiffly. "I will bring the wolf cub to Sasstica." he said deviously. "And see what she says to it."  
Rory grinned, recognising the amount of mischief in the voice. "If you're dead then, I'll know she killed you." he murmured at Esca's retreating figure, and caught enough of the Briton's faint laugh to know that he had heard.

And later that day, Marcus found Esca more relaxed and open that he had been, though he presumed that it was the fault of the wolf cub. No one ever really suspected Rory in these matters, which the plastic centurion supposed was for the best.

A few days later, Centurion Cassius Maximus arrived with three things. One was a pair of military armillas for conspicuous gallantry: two bracelets with 'honour and faithfulness' inscribed on the side. The second was the call for a fully healed Roranicus Lucius Octavian's return to duty at Isca Dumnorium. The third was honourable discharge for Marcus.

Rory had to leave almost immediately, and he could see his friend concealing his disappointment and anger at the discharge for the sake of being sorry for the other man's leaving. "Have a good life, Rory." he had said. "I hope we meet again, but if we do not, then know at least that I will always be in your debt."  
Rory had bowed stiffly and shook his head. "There's no need for that. Thank you for allowing me to stay with you, and for being a good friend of mine."  
And then Marcus bowed too and he went.

Cottia from next door had said goodbye as well. "Rory!" she called, skipping towards him as he walked away. "Cottia! What are you doing?"  
"I just came to say bye."  
Rory smiled. "Try to stay out of trouble, okay? And keep Marcus and Esca occupied. I'm sure if you asked, he'd introduce you to that wolf cub of his."  
"Goodbye, Roranicus Lucius Octavian. I hope you find your Amelia Pond."  
And she had melted back into the trees of her own garden, and he did not see her again.

And on the road to Isca Dumnorium, one of his men ran up to him to tell him that Caesar had arrived to see Cleopatra, and that they needed to go to Stonehenge...  
And things just got weirder once it turned out that the Doctor, River and Amy were impersonating certain famous Romans.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this ends with 'The Big Bang part 1'


End file.
